


The Differences

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Asexual, F/M, lgbtfest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-23
Updated: 2010-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>LGBTFest 2010 prompt 2396. Red Dwarf, David Lister/Kristine Kochanski, in her own dimension, her relationship with Dave was perfect; he was gay, she's asexual. The Dave in this dimension doesn't seem to be quite as gay though...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Differences

**Author's Note:**

> Red Dwarf characters belong to Grant Naylor Productions and the BBC.

They kiss a lot, actually. Hellos and goodbyes, good mornings and goodnights, casual little pecks just because that’s how their relationship has evolved. Enough so that at first she thinks it’s just a _thank god you’re alive_ sort of kiss, until his tongue slips between her lips and it’s that more than Kryten bibbling in the background that makes her push him away and say, ‘This isn’t the medi-bay.’

In her dimension there’s never any tongue.

This is _not_ her dimension.

He’s not well-kept enough to be _her_ Dave, and moreover she and her Dave are _years_ past the final awkward attempts at, well, anything. She tries not to scrub her mouth with the back of her hand, just does her utmost to pull away, which is difficult because she’s lying down, easier because Lister backs off and she’s never been so grateful to see Kryten being flustered in her entire _life_.

‘Wh-what was that?’ She mentally curses herself for sounding so rattled, clears her throat and tries again. ‘What the hell was that, Lister?’ She even manages to scoot back so she’s sitting upright, which is at least a marginally more intimidating position from which to glare at him. ‘Do you make a habit of sticking your tongue down dazed women’s throats?’

‘I’m sorry – I just—’ She gives him a long, hard stare, and he repeats, ‘Sorry,’ and then wisely decides to quit while he’s ahead, or at least not as far behind as he could get if he kept talking.

 

For a few blissful hours she thinks that’s the end of their interaction; she’ll get to go home and won’t have to think about that expectation of emotion, of something she wasn’t going to give. She thinks that she’ll get to return to her nice normal niche in the world, where the only person Dave bugs for sex is the Cat, and they’re discreet enough to keep whatever arrangement they have to themselves.

She can feel this Lister’s eyes on her constantly, even when they’re in different rooms.

But then things go wrong, and she has to deal with the indignity of being harpooned, and then the indignity of the way this Lister snickers when he sees her medical gown tucked into her shorts, and finally the indignity of being found unkempt and depressed by him.

She can’t deal with the way he’s so _nice_ sometimes. In her mind, there’s always the memory of that kiss, and so she keeps assuming that’s what he’s really after, even if he hasn’t actually made a move on her since then. The thought scares her a little, but mostly makes her annoyed. So she hasn’t told him the full, unvarnished truth. So what? She’s in a relationship as far as he’s concerned, why isn’t that good enough?

Maybe it is good enough and she’s just assuming it isn’t. Maybe she really is being paranoid, making mountains out of molehills.

 

The thoughts are still all playing at the back of her head when Lister starts talking about how he can’t breathe; she’s preoccupied enough to almost snap at him that the recycled air and unusual exertion of crawling through the ducts is bothering them all, but then she takes a look at his flushed, sweaty face and the way his eyes have gone wide and realises that this is a for-real thing.

So, once Cat and Kryten have gone off looking for a grate to drop back down into the ship, it’s only natural that the topic she chooses to try and distract Lister with is the one that’s been on her mind since that first unexpected tongue invasion.

‘Why wasn’t he your type?’ Lister asks, and she just says it.

‘_Nobody’s_ my type, Lister. At least, not like that.’

Lister sits there with the water bottle hovering halfway to his mouth and tilting slowly towards the point of no return; she reaches out and takes it firmly away from him before he can waste even a few drops of the precious resource.

‘What d’you mean, nobody’s your type? Everyone’s gotta have a type,’ he says eventually.

Kochanski sighs, but at least it’s a step up from ‘You just haven’t met the right person yet’, which she’s heard far too often. She wishes that she didn’t have to have this conversation at all, but she doesn’t want to give him the wrong impression. Not even the faintest _impression_ of the wrong impression, for that matter. Not so much as the marks left by a lead pencil rubbing over the sheet of paper that was under... oh, she’s heard too many Agatha Christie plots from Holly and Lister’s looking at her like she’s gone space crazy.

‘Look. You spent time on Mimas, right?’

He just nods, sipping at the water. He still looks flushed and overwrought.

‘Well, you must have seen the, um... you know, the brothels.’ She’s pretty sure the tips of his ears go a little redder at that and decides not to wonder too hard _why_. It’s not like he has to have frequented them, after all; the Mimian brothels are almost as legendary as its particularly horrid ideas of cuisine. ‘They cater for all kinds of preferences. _Almost_ all kinds,’ she amends.

‘Kris, where’re you goin’ with this?’

_Thank you, Mr. Forthright (and Clueless) 2155._ ‘Well, some people like men, and some people like women, and some people like both, and some people like robot sheep. What I’m trying to say is that it’s just as valid for me to not like _anyone_ like that.’

‘So it’s not just me then?’

Kochanski sighs again and pats his arm. ‘It’s not just you. It’s _everyone_.’

Lister opens his mouth again and she’s _sure_ he’s going to try the ‘You just haven’t met the right person yet’ line. If he does she’s going to slug him.

But instead, it’s the slightly less frustrating but infinitely harder to answer, ‘Why?’

‘Why? Why what? Why am I asexual?’ _Why am I the dangling afterthought on the GLBTIQAwhatever_ _acronym? Why am I sitting in this duct discussing this with you when with the ship out of control we could be about to die? Why?_

‘Yeah. Is it... I mean, did anythin’ bad happen to ya when you were growin’ up?’

Kochanski manages to not sigh, because in his own ineloquent way he’s just being concerned about her, the way quite a lot of people are when she tries explaining this. ‘No, nothing bad happened to me. It’s just the way that I am.’

He takes another mouthful of water. His face twists as he sips it. She knows that feeling; it’s pretty horrible-tasting. ‘But the Kochanski from my dimension definitely wasn’t... asexual.’ The pause before the word seems to just be because it is still an unfamiliar concept to him. ‘She was, um... very sexual. Definitely so.’

‘Then it’s something that can be different depending on the dimension,’ Kochanski says firmly. ‘Like you’re straight in this dimension and gay in mine. It’s just another thing that can be different. Come on, Dave, you’ve told me about Ace Rimmer and how different he is to the Rimmer you knew, it’s just – what’s the matter?’ Because now he’s staring at her like she just announced her sexual attraction to squirrels. ‘What?’

‘I’m _gay_ in your dimension?’

Well. She supposes at least it’s taken his mind off the claustrophobia.


End file.
